


The Heart of Avonlea

by B_does_the_write_thing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, RSS15, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/pseuds/B_does_the_write_thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Belle is more interested in learning to rule her lands and care for her people than worrying about love or marriage. Yet, when her father declares she must wed, Avonlea is flooded with potential suiters for the famous beauty. </p><p> When the infamous Dark One arrives in Avonlea to throw his hat in the ring in order to claim a mystical treasure, they form an uneasy alliance to get what they both want- only to discover what they never dreamed of in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of Avonlea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hypatia3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia3/gifts).



> It’s been a joy to get to stalk- i mean Santa- for @itishypatiaofalexandria who I know had to work today so I saved this for a bit later in the evening for you! I hope you enjoy this little fairy tale. Thanks to Prissygirl for beta reading and cheerleading as always!

Love was vastly overrated.

Well, in Belle’s opinion at least. Not that she had ever been in love herself, but she had read the entire library of Avonlea. Countless tales had focused on the great and powerful emotion that so few could claim to possess and yet every story somehow seemed to include.

And still, even in the most realistic of stories, someone would die. Only to be brought back to life by their true love’s kiss, deposited on their cold, dead lips. Codswallop, Belle thought privately, who went around kissing the dead? 

Belle never really cared for those stories; she preferred the historical stories of daring knights or brave explorers. 

Still, no one else seemed to share her opinion on the subject. 

“You’ll see,” the crones cackled, shaking their heads at her as she stood before them with her hands on her hips, a maid of four and ten, declaring she would never fall in love.

“You’ll see,” her maids promised, shaking their heads at her fondly as they prepared her for the eve’s dinner. She sat resignedly before the mirror, a maid of eight and ten, sighing that she didn’t want to meet Lord Wentworth’s son as her latest book was torn from her lap. 

“You’ll see,” her fellow ladies giggled, eyeing the knights errant who practiced in the yard below as a one and twenty year old Lady Belle curled up in an armchair, shaking her head as she asked why they insisted on these flirtations. As for Belle, she preferred instead to finish reading the year’s tax collection plan for the realm proper. 

Tis what they all said. “You’ll see”, as if love was something that was hidden just behind the curtain, waiting for her to glimpse through and plunge headfirst into the unknown wonders of love and matrimony. Belle assumed love would be more like tumbling into a deep dark hole, where the mysteries of heartbreak might be revealed to her. After all, she had seen what happened firsthand when love was not enough. Her father had loved her mother to distraction, and even that was not enough to save the Lady Colette when her time had come. 

So, Belle focused on the practicalities of life as a lady of the land. She learned the dances, the social niceties and the proper fan etiquette for any ball. She memorized the crest of every house, the names of even the most minor lords as well as the names of all the realm’s lands. Visiting dignitaries often remarked on the charming company of their lord’s only daughter, comparing her hosting skills to that of the regent queen herself. 

When not hosting, she was taught how to sew, practiced needlepoint and even learned how to sheer sheep. Her handiwork dressed the constantly growing stable boys, hung from the walls of her father’s private chambers and her hands grew steady with the shears. If that was not enough, she took great pains to try and master music, her natural singing voice being much called for at any function even though her skills with instruments never truly became any more than mildly adequate. 

“Your mother would be proud,” her father often said to her, patting her head as he smiled down at her. Belle would always smile back at this high praise, knowing her mother would be proud, but not for the reasons her father thought. 

For when she had finished learning the ways of a lady, she had moved on to learning the ways of a lord. No one questioned the already bookish Belle, going into the library and disappearing for hours in the stacks on taxes, land care and farming techniques. Even the curmudgeons of court were happy to have the young beauty sit in during the usually dull and drab sessions, and from these long hours, Belle honed her compassion and realized her own innate sense of justice. 

It was until she tried to learn how to fight that her father realized what was going on.

“But Papa,” Belle sighed, sitting as demurely as possible despite the blossoming black and blue mark spreading rapidly across her very sensitive backside. One of the more spirited stallions had thrown her just that morning, causing the physician to alert her father to her current studies. “How am I to understand the rules of warfare if I’m not familiar with battle?”

Lord Maurice gaped in complete astonishment at his only child, sitting before him and speaking as if she had been born a son instead of a daughter. 

“Belle, my child,” he began, shaking his head to clear it of the small pigtailed girl of six that he still saw whenever he looked at her. “These things are not done.”

“Well, of course they’re aren’t,” Belle agreed politely. “But that’s no reason why they shouldn’t be.”

Maurice was used to his daughter and her odd way of thinking but it still took him a moment to understand her sometimes. After a moment, he sighed, standing and moving to the window which overlooked the castle’s small courtyard. “I’m afraid this is my fault,” he shared, watching as the young stableboys played at being knights with dung covered shovels and pitchforks full of hay. “I haven’t been paying enough attention, daughter.”

“Nonsense,” Belle replied, standing to join him. He moved aside for her, letting her rest her elbows on the window ledge to smile down at the children below. “I’ve done all of this for you, Papa.”

It was common knowledge that Lord Maurice was getting on in years. After losing his beloved wife years ago, he had aged almost as if overnight. Most agreed it was only his young daughter that kept him alive those first few years, and now, as she came of age, he had not yet noticed she had been taking care of him in turn. 

“Belle,” he said fondly, placing a hand affectionately on her shoulder. She turned back to him and with the sun streaming in behind her. It illuminated her dark brown hair into a golden halo and for a brief moment, Maurice could swear he saw his own lost wife smiling back at him. Then, he blinked and his daughter returned to his sight. “My darling daughter, I’ve been blind. Here, I still thought you my little girl and I’ve almost missed that you’re all grown.” Belle smiled at him, a warm proud smile fueled by her unwavering love for her father. “But you have grown and it’s time you wed.”

This of course was not at all what Belle had expected to hear when she had been summoned from her pillows to her father’s rooms. Shaking her head slightly, she objected as respectfully as she could. “But Papa, now? There’s so much I still haven’t done. Just the other day, I was speaking to Lord Harris about a tour of the mountains with his youngest-”

“Belle,” Maurice interrupted, growing churlish despite himself at the look of disappointment that had fallen across her face. “You’re a woman of six and twenty. We’ve put this off for far too long.”

Belle experienced for the second time that day the feeling of her stomach dropping as the ground fell away from beneath her. This time however, there was no jarring thud as her bottom hit the earth, but instead the niggling sense of responsibility rearing its head. She found herself nodding. “Of course, Papa. Whatever you think best.”

And as she made her exit to head to her sewing circle, Belle swallowed the thick feeling in her throat as she smiled and nodded to every soul that milled about the ever busy yard. Her days of freedom had come to an end, and all she could think of was how exasperating courting seemed. 

She could and would resign herself to marriage, hopefully to a kind and just second son who could come live with them here in Avonlea. That, Belle decided, would be enough. She just hoped there wouldn’t be too much talk of love. If she was too marry, fine. She had expected it to happen one day, but as she had grown older and wiser, she had thought perhaps…

No, Belle thought to herself, she would marry to secure the kingdom’s future and only that. 

\--

When news spread that the famed Lady Belle was to finally be wed, Avonlea found itself inundated with suiters. The castle soon ran out of rooms, as the most prominent families, old in name but poor in coffers and the newest families, upstart merchants flush with gold but with no famous name to call their own, came to woo the reputable beauty. 

Soon, word came from the farthest reaches of the kingdom, the prince himself was coming to see this great maiden. Belle remained calm throughout all this, merely remarking to her father that she couldn’t possibly choose from all these hopefuls. “I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings,” she sighed, staring down from that same small window as lords called for their horses. She frowned as one dark haired knight cuffed his own page, mentally marking that one off her list. She had resigned herself to be married, but she would not wed a brute. 

“Belle,” her father sighed from the shadows. “It’s already been ten days…”

What he didn’t say was that the reserves of Avonlea were running dry. Hosting nearly two hundred noblemen and their envoys had nearly emptied their pantries. Now, the castle paying local farmers and townsfolk for their meats, cheeses and breads as their own gold supply dwindled due to all the lavish feasts. 

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Belle replied in sincere remorse. She went to him, wrapping her arms around his great shoulders as she pressed a kiss to his temple.”But if the rumors are true and the Prince himself is coming…”

“Then, we must wait,” her father agreed. “Or risk offending the royal family.”

“Don’t worry,” Belle promised, leaning her cheek against his stubbled one. “He’s just coming to sate his curiosity. I’ll marry a second son and stay here with my new husband to rule the lands with you.”

His wrinkled hand clasped hers where it hung from his neck and he squeezed it as he closed his eyes against the sad reality of the decision that stood before him and his daughter. At this point, picking any suitor ran the risk of offending all the others. Unless the Prince himself proposed a betrothal, Maurice was afraid his daughter’s choice would risk alienating every other family in the realm.

\--

Two weeks later, Belle had returned to her father’s study for a similar conversation. She remained unbetrothed but time was growing short. Many of the simply curious had left, returning to their own lands but still over a hundred candidates remained and they were growing restless. 

“Absolutely not,” Belle declared, jutting her chin out in an exact mirror of her father who stood across from her, red face and blustering. “I will not marry that… that blackguard.”

“Lady Belle, see reason,” her father’s most trusted advisor begged. “With the Prince gone, we must choose a husband from the remaining suitors before the harvest’s conclusion.”

The Prince had been more interested in Belle’s suitors than Belle herself, and had been a pleasurable distraction in the past few days. Belle had enjoyed Prince Jefferson’s penchant for top hats, frock coats and his kohl rimmed eyes that made him look mysteriously sleepy. They had become easy friends, and she had been sorrowed to see him leave that morning. He had left her with a large dowry gift, inviting her and her future husband to the castle to visit. Belle had enjoyed their rides together around the countryside and he had taught her a new dance from across the sea. She already missed his easy going nature and ribald jokes.

Now, however, the gaiety of the past few weeks had disappeared. The remaining suitors grew impatient, calling for Lord Maurice to make his choice, ignoring Belle’s role in her own future.

“The choice is clear,” the advisor sighed, wiping his sopping brow. It was a warm night despite the harvest season and little wind blew in on the balmy night. “Without the money and power of the right family, we risk our very lands. With his heroic feats, if we present him in the right light...”

Belle, knowing what came next, shook her head vehemently. “I won’t agree to him,” she repeated. “There has to be someone else.”

“Belle, sweetheart. There may be no lands to his name, but Sir Gaston has single handedly earned his rank by being the best knight of the land through his own valor and bravery. No one will dare begrudge Avonlea for betrothing you to a hero.”

“Not him, Papa,” Belle choked, feeling her cloak of strength and maturity drop from her shoulders. “He’s horrible. Please don’t make me do this. Anyone else, please.”

Maurice took her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest, sniffling as she wrapped her arms around his large torso, seeking to disappear into her father’s warmth. “If there was any other way…” Maurice replied sadly. 

“Oh, but perhaps there is!”

Belle jerked her head up at the unknown voice. Her father wrapped his arms more tightly around her, as the three advisors in the room began to gibber and protest at the intrusion. 

“Now, now, no need to cause a fuss,” the stranger scolded them from the shadows. Belle couldn’t see him, but the voice was high pitched, almost effeminate. It was a teasing voice, but it lacked any real humor. 

“Who are you?” Lord Maurice demanded, and his voice reverberated against Belle’s cheek. She tried to peer out from beneath his protective hold, but all she managed to do was wipe her tear stained cheeks across her father’s doublet. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” answered the unseen speaker. He drew out the name, rolling the r and elongating the u as if it was a grand announcement. Belle, recognizing the infamous name, pushed herself away from her father, just as he moved to release her. 

Unfortunately, she overcorrected herself and ended up tripping on her own hem to fall with a startled cry. 

Well, she would have fallen; if someone had not deftly caught her in mid trip. 

“Hello,” Belle murmured to her rescuer. She was being held upright by her shoulders, his arms wrapped around her as he held her awkwardly from collapsing to the floor. 

He was sufficiently startled by her calm greeting that for a moment, he returned her frank stare. Belle did not bother to wonder what he saw; there was a stack of poems in her room about her sapphire eyes or the pools of liquid desire in her heart shaped face. She could quote him odes about her lips or the pearly white gates that she had assumed must be her teeth. No, while he stared down at her in confusion, Belle took her look of him. 

The infamous Rumplestiltskin. She knew of him of course, everyone did, much like the Evil Queen in the land far, far away or the ogres who had settled in the mountains to the east. Everyone knew heroes and villains. Still, no one had ever said what he actually looked like. 

His skin was copper gold, gleaming slightly in the firelight where he had emerged to catch her. It was a curious color, almost scaled but where his hands held her, brushing against the soft skin of her arms, they were warm and smooth as any man’s. It was only a moment, a few heartbeats before he blinked rapidly, propping her back on her own two feet before dusting his hands off.

“Careful, dearie,” he sniped. Hiis whole face became pinched and his voice went nasally as he sneered at her. Belle simply stared back, which only seemed to further infuriate him. “Stop that,” he snapped. “Your face will freeze that way.”

“Will it?” Belle asked breathlessly. “Or are you just being rude?”

“My lord,” whispered one of the advisors in open terror. “This is most egregious.”

“If I may,” Rumplestiltskin said, moving past her to stand before her father. “I hear tell that you’ve a bit of a conundrum at hand?”

Her father looked startled to be openly addressed by the most despised creature in all the lands but he recovered enough to nod hesitantly. “Yes, your greatness,” he replied, bowing his head to show the respect deserved to such a powerful creature. “It’s my daughter.”

Rumplestiltskin turned an eye over his shoulder to glance at Belle where she stood. “Can’t do much with that,” Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Afraid you’re stuck with her.”

“Her marriage,” Lord Maurice clarified as Belle moved back to her father’s side. Rumplestiltskin glanced over at her before lifting his chin and moving away to examine the room. “We run the risk of offending the great lords of the lands no matter who we choose.”

Rumplestiltskin was in the process of investigating a large crest on the wall opposite the window. With his back to them, he snorted as he waved his left hand as if to dismiss the issue. “Poppycock,” he replied breezily. “You simply make them all sign a treaty to respect the decision. That way, no one has to worry about what happens if they are the one chosen. Self preservation, always wins.”

Maurice turned to glare at his most trusted advisors, none of whom had been able to come up with this suggestion. One coughed, a small embarrassed noise before they fell silent again. 

As this occurred, Belle crossed the room, arriving behind Rumplestiltskin just as he twisted sharply about face. Face to face this time, instead of her earlier more prone position, allowed Belle to look him squarely in the eye. His were a yellowish brown, rounded and gleaming like the lizards and toads that the children sometimes caught down by the river. “A simple solution,” Belle praised, clasping her hands demurely before her. “We thank you. However, it does not address the reason you’ve come to Avonlea. In thanks, what can we offer you in return?”

His advice, simple as it was, was direly needed. Belle knew enough of responsibilities, duties and justice to know he expected something in return. She was determined to hear him out, knowing he had just made her life and her people’s considerably safer. 

“Well, then,” he replied, crooking his head at her. “I had come to deal for the Treasure of Avonlea.”

“Tis but a story,” Belle replied with a thoughtful frown. Behind her, she heard someone slip out the open door, hopefully headed to draw up the proposed document that would ensure their land’s continued safety. The sooner they got the lords to sign it, the sooner she could choose anyone but the blundering oaf Gaston. She of course couldn’t tell Rumplestiltskin this, but for that alone, Belle would gift him the sky itself. “An old one at that.”

“I know it well,” Rumplestiltskin assured her, stepping closer until his breath ghosted across her face. Glancing away, Belle looked down at him to find he was formidably dressed. Large plumes of feathers arose from his brocade jacket and his leather breeches laced into knee high boots. It was formidable, but expensive, unique and memorable. 

“Then, you know the Treasure of Avonlea is the heart of the people,” Belle said. She gestured to the crest behind him. “Our family has protected the people with this knowledge, that without them, there is nothing.”

“Ah,” he answered cryptically, lifting a single finger to wag before her face. “But there’s where you’re wrong.”

Belle did not pay any heed to the offending digit, keeping a calm eye on the powerful man before her. She had learned this lesson at her father’s knee, treat all men equally and just. She always tried to treat the lowliest servant with the same respect she had shown her prince. Her current guest however was testing her experience and she was careful to keep herself stoic in the face of his quips.

“The Treasure of Avonlea,” he said, “is nothing of the kind. No, it is a power, a long dormant one that will only reveal itself to the one who has the heart of it’s people. See? Bit different.”

“Ah,” Belle nodded. “And you’ve come to deal for it.” Rumplestiltskin broke into a smile, a terrible one with black rotted teeth all crooked and cracked. Belle ignored it, focusing instead on the matter at hand. “If that be the case, we are unable to offer it as none of us possess it.”

“Wrong again!” He crowed, pushing past her to stand before her father. Belle blinked, astonished enough to fall silent as the mercurial sorcerer bounced to her father, grinning wickedly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take a room with a view.”

“A...a room?” her father sputtered, looking lost. “Whatever for?”

“I’m throwing my hat in the ring,” Rumplestiltskin declared with a giggle, clapping his hands before rubbing them together gleefully. “You did say, anyone was welcome to try for your daughter’s hand...didn’t you?”

This unexpected announcement was immediately followed by a clamor of armour ringing as booted steps charged down the corridor. Before anyone could react, Gaston, the most famed knight in this land or any other, burst through with his sword raised high. His dark eyes gleamed in bloodlust and he leveled his sword at Rumplestiltskin. Behind him, her father’s advisor was panting, having rushed off to collect the young man. “You, foul beast!” He challenged proudly. “Step away from my beloved!”

Rumplestiltskin turned a judgemental eye to Belle who sighed in response to the melodrama. Her father was looking between Gaston and the Dark One as if he was torn between two evils.  
In the next moment, a click echoed in the stone room, smoke billowed forth from nowhere and when it cleared, Gaston was gone and only a single rose lay where he had stood. 

Collecting it with a sweep of his arm, Rumplestiltskin pivoted on the spot, dropping to his knee before Belle with a cock sure grin on his face. He presented the rose to her as if he had plucked it from the garden himself and Belle shakily accepted Gaston from him, even as Lord Maurice collapsed into his chair. 

“My room?” The Dark One asked, not taking his eyes off her. Belle returned the stare as best she could, equally distressed and impressed by this feat of power. 

“Show him to the west wing,” her father croaked and one of the braver councilman stepped forward.

“This...This way, your greatness,” he stuttered. 

Rumplestiltskin jumped to his feet, as spry as a boy of six and teen instead of a great and powerful immortal sorcerer. Belle clutched Gaston closer to her, feeling the prick of thorns against her palm as well as the soft whisper of petals across her lips. 

As he left, Rumplestiltskin turned as if in afterthought. “Oh, and the little knight will be fine after an hour or so. Still, best if he left. I may not be as forgiving next time.”

And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his high pitched giggles bouncing back to them.

\--

By the next morning, there was no more suitors left in Avonlea. Belle watched from her window as the last few stragglers disappeared through the gate to head back home. Gaston had been the first to leave, humiliated by his defeat but intelligent enough to know not to cross paths with the Dark One again. His less brave suitors took the hint and left as well. The Lady Belle it seemed would not have to make any hasty decisions after all.

Her maids were all clucking and sighing over the horror of the Dark One living in their castle, but as Belle sat at her window, watching the morning sun began to rise over her land, she felt completely at peace. 

\--

“I’m not going to a nunnery, Father,” Belle sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s simply using his courtship to spend time here to find the mythical Treasure. He has no real interest in me as a bride. Everything will be fine. Trust me.”

Lord Maurice sat deflated in his Lord’s seat, surrounded by his advisors, local lords and councilmen. “I’m afraid she is right about the nunnery,” one of them agreed. “We are honor bound for Lady Belle to choose a suitor. If she is to enter the convent, the Dark One would be in his rights to be offended.”

“That’s a terrible name,” Belle scolded them. A few had the grace to look guilty, but some were too terrified to be able to think rationally anymore. If even Lord Maurice could not keep his head, too worried to think clearly, she would have to do so for all of them. “His name is Rumpelstiltskin. Names have power, gentlemen. You taught me that, and I urge you to remember it.”

Silence followed this.

“Now,” Belle said with a definite nod. “I am expected at dinner.”

Dinner, as it turned out, was a nearly empty affair. The dining hall was dark when she arrived at the main level, and she found a servant waiting for her nervously. 

“My lady,” he mumbled, trembling slightly as he darted worried looks towards the family dining room. “He demanded to use your father’s private table…”

After reassuring the man that this was fine, Belle entered the smaller room to find the table full of food, nearly spilling off the table as the chandelier burned bright overhead. At the head of the table, where her father usually sat, Rumplestiltskin had his feet up on the table, chewing noisily on a large turkey wing.

He did not move as she approached her seat, nor did he stand when she seated herself. Belle caught the attention of the sommelier and instructed him to bring her father his meal to his chambers as he was not feeling well. The man looked grateful to be anywhere but there and disappeared, leaving the wine at her elbow.

“Sir,” Belle greeted with a nod. Her stomach felt slightly twisted and her heart beat quickened as she looked at the table before her. She didn’t quite understand why she was nervous, but still, there was no denying she was. He, in turn, lifted the turkey leg to her in salute, the grease coating his chin. This ludicrous sight, plus her nerves, caused her to giggle, a small surprised sound that echoed in the otherwise silent room around them. 

“What?” he groused, sitting up slightly. This only caused her to giggle harder until she couldn’t control the laughter. Rumplestiltskin's feet returned to the floor as he glowered at her over the fourteen course meal. “Stop that at once!” he demanded, still holding the offending piece of fowl. 

Belle raised a hand to cover her laughter but could not stop it entirely. Her dining companion grew sullen, frowning at her until she leaned over to hand him the napkin from her lap. “You have a bit of grease,” she explained, gesturing at her own chin with her free hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend. It’s just... I tend to laugh when I’m nervous.”

“Dreadful habit,” he grumbled, taking the offered napkin and rubbing his chin enough to scrape the skin away with the grease. Belle assumed he meant the laughing until he added. “Never admit you’re nervous. Gives the other person an advantage.”

He returned to eating as if he hadn’t said a word, tearing into the wing again. Belle noticed he was more careful though, and when he put the wing back on the plate, his chin was still clean. 

“I’m afraid it’s just you and me this evening,” Belle apologized, pouring herself a glass of wine. “My other suitors have decided to retract their offers and return home.”

“Pity,” Rumplestiltskin noted, reaching for some roast. Belle helped herself to some of the turkey and roast before her dinner guest ate it all, adding some vegetables and bread to her plate as well. His eyes sidled over to hers. “I was hoping to grow you a veritable garden of vanquished suitors.”

Belle shot him a disapproving glance but she could not help the small smile that blossomed as she returned her gaze to her own plate. “Perhaps you could try your luck at something else,” she suggested, lifting her glass to her lips. “Flowers are lovely, but I prefer books.”

Dinner passed like this. With quiet comments traded easily between long stretches of silence. Belle watched her current ‘suitor’ from the corner of her eye the entire meal, knowing he was doing the same. Despite his abysmal table manners, he was not terrible company. 

When the pastry chef crept in the room, shaking like a leaf and causing his entire cart to rattle and clatter, Rumplestiltskin leered at him, crooking a finger for him to creep closer. The poor man darted a terrified look at Belle, who stood and moved to him. After a moment talking, he disappeared into the hallway and she rolled the cart to the corner between where she and Rumplestiltskin sat, before reseating herself. 

“Tell me,” he said, eyes still on her. “Why are you not afraid?”

“Should I be?” Belle asked, selecting a lemon tart from the the top tray. 

“I don’t take kindly to mocking,” he warned her, his upper lip curling back in a snarl. 

“I wouldn’t think so,” she replied calmly. “I don’t either.”

He did not select any sugary confection from the cart and Belle made quick work of her tart before selecting a sugared cookie, breaking it in half and offering the larger portion to him. He did not move to take it from her. 

“Can’t we be civil?” she asked, wiggling the cookie at him in good humor. “You’ve just saved me from an unwanted marriage. Thanks to you, I’m free to stay with my father and help govern our people.”

“I also,” he reminded her slowly, “am here to take the Treasure of Avonlea from you and your people.”

Belle nodded, sitting back in her chair and taking a large bite of her cookie. It was flaky and warm still, and she let out a small happy sigh. After a moment of baked bliss, she opened her eyes and found her dinner companion frowning at her. 

“Yes, sorry,” she apologized, dusting her fingers free of crumbs. “I must say, I did think about that. And would you like to know what I’ve decided?”

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes grew narrower. 

“Well, if after all these years, if we haven’t found or located it as we do not possess the heart of our people, as you put it, perhaps it’s not ours to begin with,” Belle shared with him. “Now, if it ends up being real, something we can give or you can take, perhaps we won’t miss it.”

“And if you do?”

The room around them was quiet, but Belle could hear the kitchen faintly, still working at cleaning up after this large two person feast. She mentally made note to tell them to not prepare so much food for future meals for the Dark One, but then realized they had just been trying to show their support for her. This small gesture cemented her resolve. 

“Then, I suppose I shall have to hope you are not as dark as they all say,” Belle concluded hopefully.

She half expected him to lash out, to tell her she was wrong or a fool, but instead he nodded and stood up. With a small bow, he made his exit through the great hall entrance, not once looking back.

\--

 

“Hello, there.”

High up on the barricades, Belle leaned over the closest turret, clutching her cloak’s hood as the wind twisted and tore at the fabric. Rumplestiltskin sat on the nearby ledge, cross legged and looking completely at ease as he stared out over the fields into the mountains in the distance.

When he didn’t respond, Belle tried again. “You missed lunch,” she said. “I thought perhaps something was wrong and came looking for you.”

“Found me,” he replied. “Hoping I’ll fall?”

“No,” Belle said, before she hoisted herself up on the ledge beside him, to dangle her feet over the edge. “Then, I’ll have to marry someone. As of now, you’re keeping the marriage bed away.”

He choked a bit at that and Belle laughed. She stared out over the ramparts with him, feeling braver than she had in years. 

They stayed there until late when a nervous guard caught sight of them from below and sent a whole battalion to collect her. She never asked her reluctant suitor what he had been looking for up there, or if he found it, but after dinner, when he retired, she returned to the tallest tower walkway to stare up at the moon. 

\--  
Theirs was a reluctant truce but it held. 

Her father agreed to not interfere with their great visitor, while the castle grew slowly accustomed to his presence. He did not leave the castle itself as far as anyone could tell, but some of the more superstitious folks all bemoaned the fate of their lands, claiming the Dark One had come to woo and marry Lady Belle to make her his dark mistress.

Belle did not hear these rumors. She was too busy trying to befriend the grumpy, prickly and impossible man.  
\--

She learned he liked tea in his second week.

“I’m working,” he protested as she appeared in the dark archives to invite him upstairs. It had grown cold overnight and the men had been hard at work to complete the harvest before it grew too cold. 

“It’s the first harvest tea,” Belle cajoled. She shivered, glancing behind her into the deeper, darker vaults. “The cooks even made raspberry scones; these will be the last of the season.”

He wrinkled his nose but begrudgingly consented to join her.

Although his little joke of disappearing from the archives, only for her to find him sitting at tea, already having ate half the scones, was slightly uncalled for. 

\--

As for Rumplestiltskin, his little journey to Avonlea had taken a disastrous turn. All of his research, all of his searching in the deepest darkest parts of the castle all seemed to confirm what the natives had told him.

The Treasure of Avonlea was nothing more than legend. 

But still, he felt the power there, felt it calling to him in the still of the night where he stayed wide awake, staring up at the stars overhead or burrowing deep in the vaults of kings long dead. It was here, he knew it. 

So, he tolerated his hosts, including the Lady Belle. She did make his stay there easier, he supposed. Without her, he would surely have had to pull some stunt not unlike Maleficent's old “whole castle in a deep slumber surrounded by thorns” trick to find this artifact. Instead, this Belle had managed to assuage the fears of her people, and now, some of the braver souls would nod at him, or even speak to him in passing. 

It was odd, he thought. But not terrible. Perhaps he would need one of their assistance one day, and so he allowed it.

\--

In his sixth week, Belle failed to collect him for tea one afternoon.

Even buried deep in the castle without a window, he knew the time. She always collected him at half past three, taking him to a new room in the castle where the staff had set up the tea things. Belle would talk to him about the history of the room, or sometimes a story of her own about the room. He had particularly enjoyed the one about the fish hidden under a particularly vile cousin’s pillow. 

Growing irritated that Belle had still not come, he began to assume the worse. Perhaps she was injured, or one of the suitors had returned to take her by force. The thought that Lady Belle might not be interested in taking tea with him anymore was the one that finally made him snap his tome closed. Focusing on her, that small but bright flickering light that he had grown used to in this castle, he was able to snap his fingers and appear beside her easily.

She stood in a new room, unhurt and alone. Opening his mouth to snap at her for her tardiness, he instead found himself silent as her tear-streaked face turned to him. Belle swallowed, opened her mouth to speak and let out a sob instead. Not knowing what to do, Rumpelstiltskin took a step towards her, pressing his clawed hand to her forehead, feeling for a fever or a curse that might be plaguing her but found nothing but the smoothness of her skin beneath his.

She caught his hand in hers, taking it down to press against her chest as she smiled soggily up at him. The warmth of her palms quickly became like a scorching brand against his fingers but he didn’t remove his hand from hers. It was not the first time they had touched, but this felt different, this was intentional. 

He felt frozen in place, and for a moment he wondered if he had somehow been turned to stone.

“I’m sorry,” Belle finally managed with a deep sigh. She released his hand, using her own to dash the tears from her cheeks. “It’s just…”

She gestured half heartedly to the room around them and for the first time since he appeared in it, he looked around. The room was soft hues of blue and purest white. It looked as if the very sky had settled into the castle, with large windows streaming in natural light that seemed to reach every corner of the room.

“It was my mother’s,” Belle hiccuped, moving to trace a hand along the bed sheets. “I haven’t been in here since she passed.”

His gaze fell on the tea cart, looking innocent beside the mantle where two chairs had been pulled aside for them. “The fools,” he grumbled, heading towards the ajar door. “I’ll have a word with them.”

“No!” Belle cried, hurrying after him. He ignored her. She might have mercy for the idiots who had thought tea in a room that death had touched was a good idea, but he would not. Before he could gain the exit, her hands caught his arm. At this second intentional touch, he stumbled to an uncertain halt and she crashed bodily into the back of him. She let out a small winded noise, but she did not move away. She remained there, pressed against his back as she tried to stem her tears. He allowed her, after all, it hid his face, and he was unsure what he was feeling at the moment. 

It was moments such as these - moments where this woman forgot he was a monster, forgot he was only here to steal her land’s most valuable resource - that he too almost let himself forget what he was. But the voices inside his head were too strong, and he felt his shoulders tense and his muscles lock up at the feeling of her breath against the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” she said, patting him awkwardly as she peeled away. “They didn’t know this room would upset me. It was a long time ago. I shouldn’t be this upset. ”

“What have I told you,” he asked, turning to her, “about confessing your weaknesses?” He would spare the staff his anger, but he could not as easily forget the way her face had looked when she cried.

“Not to,” Belle smiled, glancing back at the tea things. “Well, might as well, right?”

They settled down, falling back into the familiar routine of tea, but from time to time, he still saw her glance over at the large bed and for some reason, her old grief haunted him as strongly as his own.

\--

When a month had passed, Belle realized she was happy.

Sitting in the courts beside her father, she was nudged by one of the women magistrates. “You’re smiling, dear,” she whispered to Belle. “Not the best time in the middle of this kind of story.”

Bele, horrified, quickly schooled her features to match the somber faces of the rest of the court, nodding along in sympathy as the mother of a young son tried to beg his way free of the thief's hole where he had been for a week for stealing a loaf of bread. The court made short work of the case, excusing the boy but apprenticing him to the baker he had stolen from. The woman cried in relief, thanking them all for their mercy and wisdom.

When the case was over, Belle made her goodbyes and headed to meet Rumplestiltskin for tea. After she left, the woman who had spoken to her earlier wondered what the future held for the Lady of Avonlea. For she knew the smile her lady had been wearing well; it was a familiar symptom of young love.

\--

“Just try it!”

“I won’t. It’s probably poisoned.”

Belle laughed, clutching the warm mug of hot chocolate closer to her chest. “Fine,” she teased. “But you’re missing out.”

He didn’t think so. 

After all, she was smiling.

\--

“Do it again! Please?”

“I’ve already done it twelve times this week.” 

“Well, twice more then. Everyone knows thirteen is bad luck.”

Belle tilted her head up in spellbound wonder as Rumple, despite his sighs and groans, glanced back at her from over his shoulder to see the wonder on her face as he made the ceiling above them transparent. He added a slightly extra charm to bring the season's first snowfall into the room with them, and it was worth it to see the look of exhilaration on her face.

It melted before it hit Belle’s upturned cheeks and she pouted, turning to him with a sparkle in her eye as she asked, ”Have you ever built a snowman?”

\--

Winter came and went. 

Avonlea had an easy one. Despite the unusual snowfall, the people stayed warm and the harvest reapings lasted longer than ever before. Spring came early and everywhere people spoke of Rumpelstiltskin, the famous wizard who was living at the castle, and thanked him for his benevolence. For surely, they whispered from one tavern to the other, what else could it be but magic?

\--

Lord Maurice had grown used to seeing his only daughter in the company of the beastly sorcerer, but he knew her and her heart well. It had been months since her “suitor” had come to Avonlea, and the faux courtship had reaped nothing so far except rumors that Avonlea had gained the protection of the Dark One himself. 

“Do you think,” Maurice asked, watching his daughter on the floor below walking arm in arm with their powerful guest as they discussed some kind of book, “she realizes?” 

 

“No, my lord,” one of his companion replied, looking down at the two of them. “But she’ll see.”

\--

“Honestly, ‘my beloved’!” Belle sighed, burrowing deeper into the pillows before the fireplace. “He didn’t even know my name!”

“Beatrice, isn’t it?”

He was rewarded with a pillow smacking him in the back, but he snagged it from him, adding it to his own pile. They sat in their favorite part of the library, right before the great mantle that was as nearly tall as a man. The spring rains had come, which meant their garden stroll had been postponed for tomorrow.

Somehow they had taken a turn to reminiscing about their first meeting, and Rumplestiltskin moved closer to her, pretending to snag another pillow which ended up with her closer to him as well, pretending to share her pillows.

As she began to read, he cracked his own book and pretended to scan it until she grew impassioned about hers and began to read him snippets out loud. Soon, she was reading whole paragraphs and as always, was soon reading him the entire chapter. He curled his legs beneath him, as she scooted closer to save her voice, until he could bury his nose in her hair and breathe her in as her voice surrounded him.

It was a typical Thursday.

\--

“Tell me more about the Treasure of Avonlea,” Belle asked, as they floated peacefully through the still waters of the lake. It was the first truly warm day of spring and she had convinced him to join her on the lake. As a swan swam past, she let her fingers dip into the water to make ripples alongside the wooden dinghy. 

Rumple, despite his initial reluctance to come out on the water, was enjoying himself. His usual jacket had been shed to reveal his undershirt and he enjoyed watching Belle so relaxed and at ease. 

“Tis a story,” he joked, recalling her first words to him on the subject those few months ago. Belle nudged his foot with her own, smiling through the small scold. 

“Please,” she repeated, leaning back against the boat’s hull. “You spend too much time looking for it. I hardly see you if I don’t tempt you away with tea.”

He didn’t respond to that, although he would have thought by now she would have realized it was not the tea that tempted him. No, he had been plagued his search for the Treasure for so long now that he barely thought about it anymore. His hours buried in the archives or vaults were to keep him away from the true siren call of Avonlea, the woman who sat unknowing before him. 

“From the legends,” he began, putting on his storytelling voice, the one that made her eyes go wide and her breath shallow as she lost herself in the tales of long ago, “The Treasure of Avonlea is the most powerful magic of all, the only light against the darkness.”

“Hope,” Belle offered gamely. It was a familiar game with them. Belle still insisted the treasure was a morality lesson for the powerful and a moral booster for the less fortunate. He knew better.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, looking over at the oars as they magically pulled them across the great lake. Belle had told him about her summers here, and he had been more than willing to assist her with her desire to spend the day here at the foot of the mountains. “We will see.”

\--

He realized it on the twelfth month of his stay. 

A particularly colorful summer afternoon, he saw Belle standing there in the late summer sunlight and felt an odd twist in his chest. It was a familiar odd feeling. He had experienced it before but not as strongly, not as vibrantly as he did now, watching Belle laugh, tickling children under the chin as they flocked to her.

As her eyes met his, finding him in the shadows as she always did, the feeling increased as if his heart had suddenly grown four sizes too large and with that, he finally understood.

He had to leave Avonlea.

\--

The day dawned bright and cool. The men in the fields were at harvest while the women helped clear the fields, some at home preparing crops for the winter while others went to market or the castle to sell their surplus. It was a perfectly ordinary day.

Except the castle proper had just realized the suitor was gone.

The first maid to stumble upon the empty room where he had been staying quickly told her superior, who after checking herself, reported it to the head of staff. Troubled by this sudden change, she went straight to the Lord himself.

“Gone?” he asked, blinking up at her from his breakfast.

She nodded, twisting her hands in her apron. It was an awful habit, one she hadn’t indulged in for years. “His things are all missing,” she continued. “The papers, the plants and herbs - all of it gone.”

Lord Maurice sighed, looking every inch his age as he stared back down at his quickly congealing breakfast. “And my daughter?”

“Still asleep,” she answered. “Do you think she knows?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “If she had known, she would have done anything in her power to make him stay. When she wakes, send her to me.”

\--

“He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Her father was looking at her with a mixture of relief and pity and it was quickly turning her stomach. She stood abruptly from her chair and strode to the door. She would go to his rooms, he would have left a note - something to tell her where he had gone, when he’d be back -

“Belle…”

She ignored her father’s call. Her entire body felt light, as if something had been bodily removed from her as she had sat there before him. She hurried down the familiar hallways, ones she had navigated her entire life, but never before had they felt this long. 

All she could think of was last night, the way he had brushed his lips against her hand as they had said goodnight. A courtier’s trick, a way of promising everything and nothing all at once. But she had been too caught up in the feeling of his hand in hers, of the way his breath had danced over her wrist and the feel of his lips burning against her skin. 

There was something in her throat, blocking her airway and causing her to feel dizzy as she rushed up the spiral stairs to his rooms. He would be there, she told herself, and if not there, the library or the barricades. Perhaps the dungeons or the archives, she would search every inch of the castle. Rumple would not have left without saying goodbye.

The door to his chambers was open, and Belle stopped there in the doorway, gazing around the pristine space. She had glimpsed it before, sometimes when he collected books to share with her, or to hang plants they had found in their walks in the garden…. it had always been a mess, and she had joked… joked that he must have great need for a maid back at his Dark Castle if this was how his room stayed here.

All joking was done now as Belle stared into the deserted room. And it was there, in the doorway between what she had always known and what she now missed, that she learned what heartbreak felt like.

And only there, with tears in her eyes, did Belle finally understand love.

\--

The Dark Castle lay beyond the mountains great, west of the ocean vast and east of the impossible forest. It stood beside a wide lake and only the bravest of heart or those who possessed magic could find it where it lay hidden.

So, it was to its master’s great surprise one early spring afternoon to find someone knocking at the great doors.

The sound echoed like cannons around the empty and dark halls of his abode. He, up in his highest tower on the far side, stopped his spinning in suspicious astonishment. With a click of his fingers, he appeared in the main hall and with a twist of his wrist, commanded the doors to reveal the fool who had thought to brave his halls.

The figure before him, with the sun streaming behind them and turning them into a slight shadow on his doorstep, stepped forward into the hall in silence. They stared at him, hooded and cloaked in a dirty brown rag, dripping water on his flagstones.

“Well?” he inquired, arching an eyebrow. “Come to kill the beast?”

The figure shook their head, as two gloved hands came up to pull down the cloak’s hood. 

“To have tea, actually,” Belle replied, her face streaked with dirt and hair wet from her swim across the lake. She offered him a wry grin, and he had to physically restrain himself from moving to her where she stood so uncertain before him. He wanted to yell at her for her foolish bravery, she could have been killed, how had she even found her way here…

And the other part of him, wanted nothing more than to fall at her feet, wrap his arms around her legs and just breathe her in. 

“Tea,” he heard himself say gruffly. “But first, you need a bath.”

\--

She was sitting there before him, healthy, happy and acting as if he had not left her without a word all those months ago. Scrubbed clean and dressed in something he had drummed up for her, she was radiant in the usual darkness of his estate. Her long brown hair was curled and lightened from her days in the sun, her usually pale skin tanner and her hands were torn and cracked. He made a mental note to give her lotions for that, knowing it probably pained her. 

All the while, she was regaling him with stories of her adventures. She had left Avonlea to travel the lands, using her dowry from the prince. She had seen wonders and horrors, won battles with her logic and passion and all the while, had made her way north, to the infamous Dark Lands where no one had ever explored before.

“And there, just at the border, stood a unicorn!”

He barely heard her. He knew she would be hurt that he hadn’t been paying attention, and he did try desperately to listen but he couldn’t focus. All he could think of was that she was there; after everything, she had still come to find him.

“Rumple? Are you listening?” she asked, coming stand beside him. She bent down, pressing her hand to his forehead. “You look pale.”

“Why did you come?” he rasped, looking up at her from where he sat. Her hand fell away and she stared back at him in stunned amazement. “You shouldn’t have...you could have died.”

“You left,” she replied, sinking down next to him. Her skirts puddled around her as she gazed up at him, reaching out one hand to rest on his where it lay in his lap. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Rule your lands, find someone to marry, someone to give you children to be heirs of Avonlea, travel, learn, grow old and happy knowing you and your lands would always be safe.”

Surely, she had known. Her father had realized it, sending words on ravens that Avonlea was prosperous and growing thanks to his gifts. He had left them in plain sight, protection and prosperity spells woven into the very land itself, into the people who lived there and the walls that protected them.

“Rumple,” Belle sighed, closing her hand around his. “You already gave me all those things.”

She stood, pulling him up with her until they stood there, next to the tea things in the heart of the Dark Castle. She raised his hand to her mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to it as she found his eyes over their clasped fingers. Slowly, she released it, watching and waiting for him to reply. He could hear her breath, slightly faster, her heartbeat matching the speed of his own. 

He felt his insides twist. His fingers flexed by his side as he lifted a shaking hand to stroke her hair. She leaned into the embrace, and he cupped her whole face in his palm, memorizing the features that he had thought to never see again in his lifetime. 

“But I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle assured him, clasping her hand over the one cradling her face. “Come back with me. Come home to Avonlea. Just for one lifetime.”

That small, terrible voice, the one that pushed him to despicable heights, the very essence of the Dark One was howling something but all he could hear was Belle’s plea, echoing in his ears. 

He bent forward, eyes never leaving her’s, letting her know she could still pull away, still leave here without him. But his Belle, his brave Belle, surged forward and he found her lips on his.  
Warm and soft, parting slightly as she sighed in bliss or relief, he couldn’t tell, but his arms moved to tighten around her, pulling her closer to him until she was pressed up against him, as he drank in the surprised sound from her lips. 

He deepened the kiss as her hands moved to cling around his neck, one twisting into the curls at his nape as the other pulled him closer, as if nothing would ever be close enough. He felt the twistings of power, tingling and fading from his skin, but he kept his eyes closed, kept his focus on Belle, and the way she moaned as he parted her lips open to taste her properly. This was dangerously addictive, he thought, his thumb brushing the bare skin of her forearm. This feel of her in his arms. 

\--

When they finally parted, hair mussed and lips swollen, Belle gave a small gasp of alarm as she stumbled backwards.

Before her, where Rumple had stood, where Rumple had kissed her until time had stopped, stood a man of his same height and build. He had brown hair, slightly silver as if on the cusp of maturity. His brown eyes glanced down at himself, still clad in the very leather outfit Rumple had been wearing. 

“It’s me, Belle,” this man assured her and it was Rumple’s voice, that dark baritone one, so different from the mocking high pitched trills and giggles he had once used to keep her away. “This is me.”

“Rumple?” she asked, reaching out a hand to press to his cheek. He caught it in his own, pressing a kiss to her palm. Her other hand lifted to push back the curls from his other cheek, and there, in the curve of his face and the way he smiled gently back at her, his eyes warm brown but still him, she saw it. “But how?”

“The Treasure of Avonlea,” he whispered, closing his eyes as she sank back into his arms. 

“Whoever possesses the heart of the people,” Belle concurred, shaking her head against his chest. “I don’t understand.”

“The oldest and most arcane legends state only the Treasure of Avonlea can break the Dark One’s curse. I came to Avonlea to part myself from the curse, to cleave myself from the control of the Dark Curse and keep the power to become all powerful with no restraints.”

“Rumple,” Belle sighed, recalling the first time he had appeared before them, how he had warned her she might not like what would happen if he gained the famed power. “That’s terrible.”

“I know,” he replied, a hand coming to the crown of her head to stroke the curls there. “But I realized...it was not a power, not something Avonlea had possessed but something that would happen there in Avonlea. And I was afraid, so I ran. How could I ever,” he stopped, pressing his forehead to hers. “How could I ever dream you would have felt the same way about me?”

Belle laughed, realizing the end of the story before he finished, because it was their story. “True Love,” she remarked, tilting her head up to gaze into his smiling face. “You have my heart.”

“And you have the heart of the people. I see how they love you, how they would do anything for their lady and she would do it in return.” Belle felt light as a feather, tightening her hold on him to keep from floating away. “And you have my heart. You’ve had it for far longer than even I realized.”

She pressed another kiss to his jaw, nuzzling into his neck and sighing as the rough stubble prickled against her own smooth cheek. For a moment, they were content to stand their in the home of dark magic, savoring the feel of each other as they listened to their heartbeats. “I love you,” she told him after a spell. 

“How did I manage that?” he asked mock seriously and Belle felt a smile blossom in return to the wondrous one on his face. 

“Simple,” she replied. “You were impossible. I like puzzles.”

He laughed at this, and Belle held him tight, marveling at the way his chest shaked against her ribcage. “I love you,” he finally said, shaking his head. “So very much, Belle.” He kissed her again, and Belle melted against him. She felt boneless in the face of the heat he seemed to spark in her, the way her skin prickled where it touched him and the feeling of needing to be closer still astonishingly potent. 

When they finally pulled away, the man Rumple still stood before her. He was growing as familiar as his cursed self had been to her. “So, what now?” She looked at the room around them, at the oddities that littered the shelves and the countless halls and rooms she had passed in her brief time there. “What happens now?”

“We return to Avonlea,” he suggested. “Rule the lands together alongside your father, have children to spoil and love, and grow old. Together.”

And so, that’s exactly what they did. 

Avonlea became the most prosperous realm in the lands. The Crown Prince himself attended the ceremony, and became a dear friend to both the Lord and Lady of Avonlea. Their children often played together at the high court, cementing a life long alliance between the royal family and Avonlea. 

The stories of the Treasure of Avonlea grew into a new story about a beauty and a beast. It grew and spread across the lands until it was one of the most famous stories of all. 

And, just like any story about love, and especially those about true love…

They lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this little fairy tale.


End file.
